The Vanishing

It started slowly, so insidiously quiet that I was none the wiser.

I was grateful for everything, my body and its movement. My ears and the way sound slipped in and hugged the space so I could hear the sound of my children’s laughter, my husband's hushed curses when he burned himself cooking dinner, music. But above the rest, and often I now wonder if it was my love for it that caused it to flee, were my eyes. My eyesight. I drank in all that I could. Traveling to other countries to witness the culture, the architecture. Watching my children’s first steps, the way their eyes widened in wonder to their first contact with everything, recitals or even the look of satisfaction from eating their favorite meals.

I adored their faces, my husbands, words on a page, moving images in film. Something as simple as the fast movement of a train, or the way planes looked suspended in air even though in the next blink it was obvious it was moving.

It was the weekend, and I was home reading in the backyard waiting for my husband to bring breakfast back; but became startled by the screams of my children. I dropped my book on the grass, couldn’t help my mind imagining the way the pages would suck up the morning dew. I ran to the living room, slightly dizzy from having gotten up too quickly. I saw that they were huddled together, my sweet Nancy and Drew. But spots formed in my eyes, though it felt more like the obtrusive feeling of a spot forming than the spot itself.

“Hey, hey what’s going on? What’s wrong?” I asked rushing to them, shaking my head as if that could help to clear my eyes. They wouldn’t move their eyes from a corner by the windowsill, I grabbed them close and looked in the same direction.

“What is that?” Nancy shrieked.

Drew, though scared, still laughed, “It’s a spider dum dum, obviously.”

Nancy shook her head vigorously, “No way, no way that thing is too big to be a spider.”

I strained my eyes and moved a little closer but they both grabbed me and held me back, “Darlings, there’s nothing there.”

The kids looked up at me, their eyebrows scrunching in confusion, then looked at each other.

“Mom, it’s right there.” Drew whispered, less scared of the spider and more worried that I obviously couldn’t see what he and Nancy did. I positioned them behind me, then decided to steer them gently to the sofa. 

I moved closer to the spot, still didn’t see anything, I could hear them shuffling uncomfortably on the couch. Wanting to pull me back but too scared to move and get closer.

The house was so quiet, you could hear my slow breathes, the silence that came from them holding theirs. Suddenly we jumped, the sound of the door banging open and closed and the rustle of bags.

“I’m back! Hope you guys are ready for pancakes drizzled in syrup.”

I heard him stop at the living room entrance, the sound of the bags being gently placed on the floor. 

“What’s going on?” He asked cautiously, I turned and watched him move to the children, checking their faces and forehead. Then he walked over to me.

“Well the children say there’s a…”

“WHOA! Where did that come from?” My husband murmured, clearing his throat in surprise to his own surprise, he pulled me back slightly.

I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the spot. Nothing.

“Honey what are you doing so close? You hate spiders, go sit. I’ll take care of it.” He led me gently to the couch and the kids cuddled close to me.

“What are you guys talking about, there’s nothing there! Is this a joke, an early Halloween prank?”

My husband looked at me confused, “Are you feeling alright?” He asked, I watched him bend, place his hand on the floor waiting for something to climb onto it.

“Dad, no way don’t do that! It’ll bite you.” Nancy said worried, though craning her neck to see.

Dan smiled, “I’m sure it’s more scared of us than we are of it. Drew, can you get the door for me?” I watched him cup his hand over his other, over empty space. He walked slowly around the sofa and toward the front door with Drew in tow. Nancy watched by my side, holding my hand.

Dan came back with Drew and grabbed the bags from the floor.

“Breakfast anyone?” Dan asked, though I noticed his eyes on me, asking me silent questions I would have to answer later. 

But I know what I saw, or, at least what I didn’t see. 

. . .

The kids were with my parents for the weekend, collecting candy in their attempt to rot their teeth. So Daniel and I had the house to ourselves. Cozy lights, 90s horror movies, popcorn and wine. A wonderful way to spend Halloween. 

I sat with my book in the love seat, but something was wrong with my sight like that morning with the spider. I blinked rapidly and while I could see, it felt like an invisible layer was trying to cloud it.

“Honey, what do you want for dinner?” I heard my husband ask from the kitchen.

I shook my head and deciding maybe I had been reading for too long in the low light, enjoying a glass of wine too many. I placed the book on the table beside me and walked to the kitchen.

“How about something simple, pasta? Or do you actually want to order out?” I asked once I turned the corner.

To my surprise, the kitchen was empty. 

“We can order out, what are we thinking? Chinese, Italian since you said pasta first.” The voice was coming from the sink, but there was no one there.

“Dan, this isn’t funny. Where are you?” I asked, feeling my heart pick up its beat. It seemed my body knew something was wrong before my mind could keep up.

“Babe, what are you talking about? You’re looking right at me.”

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. When I opened them, I could still feel the invisible cloud layer, yet the kitchen remained as it always did. It looked the way it had this morning, the day before, and days before that. But where my husband was, I couldn’t see.

“Babe, seriously what’s going on?”

“I can’t… see you. I can hear you but I can’t see you.” I tried to stay calm, I could hear the panic creeping in and feel my chest starting to rise and fall faster than I could get the breaths in. I could hear his steps on the granite floor, but I could not see him.

Then, I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m right in front of you, can you see me?” He asked, I could hear the fear in his voice. I could feel the shake of his hand on my shoulder. 

“Dan, I can't see you. I can’t see you.” It was all I could say. 

I felt him embrace me, the same warm strength that I’ve fallen into since we married all those years ago; still I couldn’t help the heat fighting its way up my throat, my body wanting to vomit out its fear.

“Can you see everything else?” He whispered.

I nodded my head, moved my head slowly from one side to the other. The stove, the sink, the refrigerator, the windows, the curtains, the drawers, the table and chairs. I could see out into the backyard, I turned and could see the warm light emanating from the living room. 

I could see everything, just not my husband. I felt him grab my hand and move us to the living room. 

“What do we do? What do you need? Doctor, we should go to the ER.” He asked and reasoned more to himself. I watched the indent of his body as he sat next to me on the couch. 

I patted where I thought his thigh was, glad I was right and could feel his hand laid there. I got up and moved to the window. I could see the houses, trees, sky, the parents and their children out there. Watched them in their costumes, knocking door to door.

I gasped, felt the air rush behind me as my husband came up behind me.

Right before my eyes, people were turning into grey splotches, disappearing, reappearing. The neighbors waved and I waved back out of habit.

“What’s going on? Let’s get you to the doctor. Come on, love.” I felt him grab my elbow and lead us to the front door.

. . .

The days blur together. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the hospital. I know that I am what the doctors call a “medical oddity”. Even they can’t figure out what’s going on. 

I still have my sight, for certain things. The room I’m in, the food I eat. But I can’t see my husband, my children, even the doctors and nurses are becoming grey blotches. Switching from there to not and back again. I know I will soon be unable to see them too.

Often I close my eyes, rely on my memory to place the face to the sound of my children. I worry how long I will be able to do that, how I will manage when their voices grow past the faces I last saw them with.

. . .

Today I sit and look out the window. I don’t much care for the planes anymore, mourning that I can’t see the things that really matter. Sitting by my side.

“Mom, did you hear me?” Drew asks quietly.

“Huh, sorry darling, what did you say?”  

I feel his small hand cup my cheek, gently guiding me to look at the face I can’t see. I haven’t told them there are moments sound goes away now too. 

Like I said, it started slowly; only this time, I was wiser.